


Waters Stained Black

by empressofhorror



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a Tumblr Post, Blood and Gore, Drowning, F/M, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-09-14 04:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16905732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressofhorror/pseuds/empressofhorror
Summary: Her life had lost all meaning. That is what Mallory Lamombières believed as she stood at the gallows, moments away from being hung for a crime that although she may have committed, it was with a weapon that she would be the last person to believe she possessed--magic. She may have been the daughter of a dead witch, and a ghost of a man; but Mallory knew that at twenty she was past the age of one’s magic arising to be part of the Harvesting to study at the Laleun Royal Academy of Witchcraft. It is through this process that they were all kept safe. Alive. Yet, she’d murdered a wine merchant’s son. That the body was in pieces, strewn about her home like a child’s painting, and was barely recognizable. As if an animal had torn him apart. And as Mallory remembered the sweet tang of the man’s blood, she wondered if they weren’t wrong. However, soon she is rescued from death and sent to that very Academy. But not is all as it seems within its halls, for it is there that the walls bleed magic, and lies could be breathed from their commonness. They say that a beast lives beneath the castle, and sometimes at midnight, you may even hear its cries. Only, it is Mallory who fears that the beast is not what they should fear--but her.





	1. I. The Aftertaste of Salt

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for AHS, and after seeing Michael and Mallory in that interview scene, I knew that I needed to write something about them. This is a slow burn, so Michael's probably not going to come in for a minute, but I'll try to make it worth it, I promise. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy it! Let me know what y'all think! ^^ 💕🌹

She smelled salt. That was the first thing that Mallory Lamombières realized when she opened her eyes for the first time to the sight of an overcast sky, gray and heavy with clouds that were laden with rain not yet poured. Sunlight filtered through here and there, but it was faint. As if the sun itself was reluctant to appear before where ever she was. The second thing that she realized was that she was cold—and terribly so.

The wind blew around her at a leisurely pace, and it took her a moment to understand that not only was she lying down, but that it was on what felt like sand. Her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, her eyelids heavy with sleep. Gingerly she sat up and blinked as she looked around, comprehension having finally dawned upon her.  
She was at a beach. One in which the water was gray, and despite its movements, so still that it reminded her of glass. She didn’t recognize it, and like lighting, it occurred to her then, that maybe, she was in a dream. Fog hovered above the water, and in the distance, Mallory could almost make out the great rocks that jutted out from the water like monoliths from the sea to the sky. When she glanced down, she felt the fine sand upon which she sat sift between her fingers, and for a moment, Mallory felt like a child at how soft it was. Even amidst the gray, it was almost blinding with its whiteness—like that of fresh snowfall.

A gust of wind blew, whipping up her long brown hair about her, and the chill of it sliced through her like a knife. Her teeth started to chatter, and as she held herself to try and ward off the cold, Mallory realized with a jolt as to why the wind felt so harsh upon her skin. Like a newborn, she was without clothes. She stood up and turned around in a circle, looking around this way and that for where her clothes might’ve gone. A piece of cloth. _Anything_. But, no, Mallory found nothing on the long expanse of the beach. There was only herself, the sand, and the sea. She was utterly alone.

Or, at least, that is what she thought, until a moment later above the lulling sound of the waves crashing upon the shore, and between the whistle of the wind, Mallory began to hear a sound. It was too far away for her to make out what it was at first, faint as it was. She felt her eyes shut, ears straining to hear more. A moment passed, and ever so gradually, it got louder and louder until Mallory could finally recognize it for what it was. A melody—and it was being sung.

Mallory opened her eyes and looked around again for the source of the song, that with every second that passed, increased in volume. She could find no one on the beach. The song itself was a haunting thing that was as gray as that of the emptiness that surrounded her. After a moment she realized that there was not just one voice, but what sounded like a chorus of hundreds, all with different pitches swirling around her in ghostly harmony.

Mallory found herself humming along to it as she began to walk aimlessly. If you’d asked her then, she could not have told you when she started singing the wordless song as well. It felt as if something within her responded to it, like a call only she could answer. Her soul felt alight with a joy that she could not name. A feeling that she couldn’t put into words. But it was strong nonetheless.

Distantly, she felt the cold chill of her feet hitting the water and it lapping at her ankles, and then her legs, as she waded into the sea. But she paid no heed to it. All Mallory knew, could hear, could _feel_ , was the wordless song of her heart. She felt lost in it. No, a part of her knew that she was, however, a larger part of her didn’t care. For, after all, was this not merely, but a dream?

The song echoed in her head and thrummed inside of her heart. A smile graced her face. She felt like she was being consumed from the inside out. It made her feel weightless, and a sense of peace washed over her. Like whispers upon her skin, Mallory could feel how her hair floated in the dark waters around her. Water splashed upon her face, but Mallory didn’t even flinch at the salt water that got into her eyes. She breathed in the thickened fog that hovered around her. Salt hung heavy in the air, on her tongue. She felt warm.

Suddenly, the chorus-like song that hung around her—within her—started to fade as the waves started to thrash like a storm was about to commence, and yet, the heavy clouds were silent. Sunlight danced upon her skin, however, they barely pierced through the murky waters that held her. A splash sounded to the far right of her. Mallory’s head whipped towards its direction, but she saw nothing but unrest waters and fog.

Another splash sounded in front of her somewhere in the distance, and when Mallory looked in its direction, she squinted into the fog to try and see what made the noise. But she could find nothing for her efforts. Like a creeping sickness, dread started to fill her. Mallory was desperately starting to hope that it was only a fish.

After a moment, the clouds parted far enough that the surface of the water began to look a tad less dark, and Mallory could see somewhat underneath it. It only took a second for her to notice it, but there was something shimmering in the water. Wide spans of white scales with slivers of gold gleamed beneath the surface farther than she could see, and when it moved, the water rippled hard enough that she accidentally swallowed sea water, and gasped desperately for air.

A resonating roar like the sound of a thousand beasts that she had no name for, and a thousand bells ringing all at once in a cathedral, came from below her. The water thrashed around her like during a tempest, and Mallory felt her blood turn to ice in her veins from fear. She gasped for air that seemed as if it wouldn’t come, her hazel eyes trying to look into the water, and bear witness to whatever manner beast meant to consume her whole.

It moved too quickly for her to understand what exactly it could even possibly _be_ , and it was larger than anything that she’d ever seen. Vaguely, she wondered if it was some sort of whale, but no, she knew that those creatures did not have scales on their great hides. This was something else. Something older. Something ancient.

When it roared again, Mallory heard herself whimper as she shook in fear, utterly petrified at being torn apart. She turned around thinking for a moment that she might perhaps be able to swim back towards the shore, but that same sliver of hope died as soon as it was born once she saw how far away she truly was. Even amidst the fog, and the thrashing waves, Mallory could tell that she had somehow drifted yards away from the shore. Tears fell down her face at the sight, hard and swift, and a sob robbed her breathless.

She was going to die.

In her panic, Mallory hadn’t noticed that the song had started up again at some point. And like a lullaby, she felt it calm her as her panic began to slip from her bones, while her limbs went limp in the water, and nothing but a numb warmth remained.

Suddenly, she felt a hand touch her ankle, and another her thigh, whilst another her back. Until she felt as if all that she was was covered in hands that caressed her soft skin beneath blackened waves. Gently—but insistently—they tugged and pulled until her head was beneath the surface. A part of her wanted to be panicked. A part of her wanted to scream. A part of her wanted to kick, and twist, and punch, and _resist_ these strange creatures until all the fight had been drained out of her. But she didn’t. She couldn’t, not as she was, pliant and song-drunk and a wonder with all that there was.

So, Mallory did nothing when they dragged her deep into waters as dark as pitch, the faint glimmer of sunlight shining upon the surface above her like a distant memory. She did nothing as she felt the last bits of air leave her mouth, only to be replaced immediately after by a surge of salt water that made her nose and chest burn with liquid fire. And so with a faint smile upon her mouth, and eyelids falling shut, Mallory was powerless against the mouth that captured her own as her awareness faded away. Her last memory, then, was of the aftertaste of salt.


	2. II. A Day That is More Than Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't intending for this chapter to be as long as it was, but I hope that you all like it regardless! 💕🌹

A gasp ripped through Mallory with such a fierceness that her chest hurt upon waking. Chest heaving, wild-eyed, and shaking like a leaf she gripped her linen bed sheets so hard that a small part of her had been surprised when she didn’t hear them tear. Strands of her hair were plastered to her sweat-slicked skin, and distantly she could feel the sweat that had beaded upon her brow fall down into it. And for one world bending moment, Mallory felt so cold that she _burned_. Ever so slowly, her breath started to even out as reality began to bleed into her consciousness.

She was _alive_. She was alive, and not drown-dead at the bottom of some sea, naked and left to be eaten by whatever nightmarish creature that she had seen. An image came to her mind then, unbidden, of hands pulling her under and bone white scales slithering through pitch dark water next to her. A shiver raced through her at the thought.

Mallory’s muscles still felt bone tired as she slowly got herself to sit up. Hazel eyes glanced at the once made up bed upon which she laid, that in her sleep, had turned into a mess of jumbled linen sheets. She grimaced as she felt her simple nightgown that was made from leftovers of the same material cling to her sweat soaked skin. She was going to need a bath; but as Mallory mentally calculated how much gold that they still had stashed away in the small chest in the corner of her mother’s bedchamber, she sighed through gritted teeth knowing that they did not have enough for her to go to the public baths. It was just as well, as she had not particularly wanted to be immersed in any body of water after that nightmare anyway--or to smell the odors of the others.

Gooseflesh erupted upon her skin as the chill of autumn air hit her, making her shiver in its wake. It was only then that she had noticed that her window had been open, and most likely for the whole night, as she couldn’t remember just when she had fallen asleep. The days all seemed to blur together now, leaving her perpetually grasping for sleep that was always a sliver beyond her fingertips. The golden glow of morning sun danced in her room, but it was for some reason, Mallory knew, that this day would be longer than most. And so, as Mallory got up, then, padding across cold wooden floors to shut them, she heard the reason for her having stayed up so late in the first place reach her ears. In the room next to her own, she heard coughing echo through her small home, and a heavy sigh left her at the sound.

As she left her bedchamber to pad across the dark wooden floors towards their kitchen, Mallory thanked the heavens that she had had enough foresight to have already drawn up two large jug’s worth of fresh water the day prior from the nearby plaza square’s well. Quickly then, she mixed some of the water in a bowl with a bit of one of her mother’s rosemary and lavender tinctures, before returning to her bedchamber, fresh linen cloth in hand from the laundry basket full of clean linens that she had yet to put away. There simply had been no time.

Mallory started to a hum a mindless tune as she stripped off her sweaty nightgown, and began to rub herself clean with a quickness, but stopped after recognizing that it sounded vaguely like the song from her dream. She wanted no reminders of it, no matter how vague. Mallory had never been prone to nightmares beforehand, and only remembered her dreams on a handful of days at any given time, however, this one was different. It had been so clear and so vivid, that Mallory could still remember the split second jolt of panic that she had woken up to at the very thought that she might be dead. That she might’ve drowned, and left her mother, frail as she was at that moment, all alone. That she’d never even been able to have a love worth living for.

In truth, it had felt like both a memory and an omen all at once. But of what, for certain, she did not know—only that if she could help it, she wanted no part of it.

Mallory put it out of her mind as she finished bathing and getting dressed in her favorite brown cotton dress, her hands having already closed her window again after throwing away the rest of the bathwater. It wasn’t a particularly fancy one—in fact, it was rather plain, not even a flower in the embroidery—but it had served her well over the years, and it brought her a sense of comfort. Something that she sorely needed in that trying time.

She grabbed a couple of hairpins from her nightstand, and with hands made deft from muscle memory, Mallory pinned up her hair into a low bun, before glancing at her reflection in the bronze hand mirror that laid upon it. Dark circles had formed beneath her eyes, and they were dull from exhaustion, which seemed to haunt her every waking moment. Turning on her heel, Mallory sighed deep and left at the sight.

When she reached her mother’s bedchamber, Mallory paused for a moment at the closed door, hand on the doorknob and forehead pressed against the wood. She could hear another one of her mother’s coughing fits even through the door, and the sound of it made her eyes sting with unshed tears. Her mind wandered to the very real possibility that she might soon be in their house alone, and yet, surrounded by memories of her everywhere. From the dried herbs and flowers that hung from the kitchen walls to her mother’s favorite tarot deck that sat in a small box on the dining table, always ready to be used for clients of hers. The smell of honeysuckle tea spreading through the house first thing in the morning as soon as her mother arose, and of frankincense and myrrh incense burning almost always to keep the energy clear. For as colorful as their house was, Mallory felt as if the fever that was racking through her mother and draining her of all life, seemed to likewise be draining Mallory’s whole world of color, and leaving her stranded amid the gray.

Mallory grit her teeth and frantically wiped at her eyes before opening the door with a pasted-on smile that probably didn’t reach her eyes no matter how much she tried. In the middle of the room, laid her mother bundled up in bed, and looking both older and frailer than her forty-two years. As Mallory walked over towards her bedside to sit at the wooden stool next to it, she couldn’t help but look upon her, and at doing so she could feel her smile crack around the edges.

She was getting worse.

Her mother’s skin, once slightly tan from the sun, had faded into a sickly paleness akin to sun-bleached bones. Even as Mallory took one of her hands into her own, she was mindful of how delicate and paper-thin her skin had now become, her limbs, thin from atrophy. Her hair, that which had once been her pride: thick and long and shining gold-kissed-auburn was now streaked with gray, and so thin that hair fell off simply by moving. Sunken in brown eyes looked up at her, and Mallory’s heart broke at seeing the pain that swam in them despite the wavering smile that her mother tried to greet her with.

“Good morning Mama,” Mallory said. She tried not to think too much about how her voice cracked a bit at the end.

When her mother replied, her voice sounded faint, “Good morning, my darling.”

“How are you feeling? Any better than yesterday?” Mallory didn’t know why she asked anymore, as the answer was always the same one every time. But, perhaps, she naively hoped that one day it wouldn’t be.

“Not particularly, no.” Mallory frowned and pressed the back of her free hand to her mother’s forehead. She was still feverish, somehow. Mallory didn’t understand how one fever, one sickness could ravage someone in this way. Not even Doctor Savant, who lived a few streets away from them in their small city of Alenyonne could identify what it was, or even remotely how to cure it. No amount of leeches or herbs seemed to work, and for a while, Mallory had thought that maybe someone had cursed her. But, no, her mother had told her once Mallory had confessed to her of her fears, around a month or so after Mallory could find no improvements to her mother’s health, that no, she did not believe that anyone had cursed her beyond the cruel hand of life itself.

And what a cruel hand it was. In the span of a summer, Mallory had watched her once bright-eyed and lively mother, the best witch in all of Alenyonne, Sorrel Lamombières, wilt away like a plucked flower that had been hidden from the sun. One of her only friends, dying before her very eyes, and yet she, her blood kin, could do nothing to help her.

Mallory remembered how she had asked her mother once if a spell could help her. Something. _Anything_. But, her mother simply got a strange look in her eye and shook her head as she told her no. And that, even if there was one, it likely had a price too big then either of them could afford to pay. Mallory could only look away from her then, as a fresh wave of self-loathing hit her so hard that she’d thought that she’d choke on it.

Because for all of her mother’s famed talents at having the Sight, telekineses, and the ability to talk to those who had passed on, it seemed that Mallory contained not even a drop of that magic in her blood, and oh, did the knowledge of that burn her like no other. She remembered the year when she had turned sixteen one bright winter morning, and how for every day afterward she had waited patiently for an ability— _any_ ability—to emerge from within her. She remembered trying to move rocks with her mind, willing freshly planted flower seeds to grow at her will, straining her eyes to see beyond the normal until she got a splitting headache, or even, her feeble attempts to light a single tallow candle with all that she had in her mind and in her heart. And yet, none of it worked. So, when the Harvesting finally occurred as it always did on the day of the Harvest Moon inside of the Twilight Concert Hall, and Mallory could show nothing at all for all of her efforts and blood relation to her mother while standing in front of the two officials for the Laleun Royal Academy of Witchcraft, and the countless other sixteen-year-old teenagers who sat waiting for their turn to be interviewed, she had felt her face flush with shame as the female official told her gently that it was alright that she did not have any talent for the Craft. That it did not mean that she was any lesser than any of them. That all sorts of manner of wonderful people had done great things without any manner of magic in their blood at all. Mallory only nodded before going back to sit down, shell-shocked that she was living the life that she had been given.

When the boy who went after her had shown a magnificent display of making a bird out of fire, however, Mallory could only feel the crippling burn of envy low within her gut at the sight.

The memories left a bitterness upon her tongue, but she was snapped out of her thoughts once Mallory heard her mother cough again into a napkin that she’d held in her free hand. When she pulled it away it was stained red with blood. Mallory had her sip from a cup of water that had been on her mother’s nightstand, and when she was done, her mother began to speak again. Only this time, the hand that Mallory had been holding grasped her own with a strength that she had honestly thought had been beyond her dying mother at that point. Brown eyes met hazel and as her mother began to speak, her eyes, her tone, it had a bone-aching desperateness to it, “ _Listen to me_. Closely now, my love.”

Mallory could only nod, having never seen her mother in such a state. She continued, “I do not have long before—,” Mallory cut her off with a frantic shake of her head as she spoke, tears stinging her eyes again with a swiftness, “No. No, no, no, you’re gonna get better. You’re gonna get _better_ Mama, you _promised_.” Her mother only looked at her pity in her eyes, clear as a summer sky at midday. Oh, how she hated it.

“I know, darling. I know. But, _please_ , listen to me. We both know that I may make it a fortnight if I’m lucky. Less, if I’m not.” Mallory watched as she paused for a moment to catch her breath, as if even speaking was a trial in and of itself now.

“I know that we only have so much money left. Who knew that blood-sucking bugs could cost so much, hmm?” The joke made Mallory’s mouth twitch into something similar to a smile even though she could feel tears falling down her face, still.

Her mother continued, albeit a bit more somber this time, “With that being said, I worry how you will live.” Mallory looked down at the light blue threadbare wool blanket that was on the bed and nodded as she swallowed. She knew what she was referring to, for oftentimes, during Doctor Savant’s house visits, one part of her would rejoice because finally, her mother would improve. But there was another part of her, that had been small and quiet at first, but over time had grown until it seemed as if to Mallory it had blocked out the sun; it whispered to her, incessantly, _‘But what if she didn’t?’_

_What if her mother did die, and she was left penniless? What would she do for money? Would she sell off their things? Beg for someone to hire her? Whored herself until she had another mouth to feed when she could barely afford for her own?_

Mallory bit her lip in order to silence a whimper that had tried to sliver out of her lips at the thought. She looked at her mother and said, “I…I will be alright, I think. I will find something. Perhaps at Mr. Chénier’s bakery, or by becoming a maid for someone. Maybe Emilien would know. I’ll figure it out.” She had to.

Her mother simply nodded, eyes closing shut for but a moment before speaking again, “Mallory, I…I want to see the sea again. Promise me that when I’m nothing more than ash that you will spread them into the ocean for me.”

At the mention of the sea, flashes of Mallory’s nightmare danced in the back of her mind, but she paid it no heed as she replied, “Of course, I will.” Alenyonne was a coastal city but didn’t gain as much traffic or popularity with tourists as it was so far up Laleun’s coastline that trade was never perpetually busy, especially during the colder months, compared to the much larger city of Leusovè to the south. The nearest beach was, at most, merely fifteen minutes away from their home.

Mallory watched as her mother smiled at her, and when she let go of gripping her hand, Mallory felt her softly rub away one of her tears with it. Her tone was wistful when she spoke again, “You look so much like him.”

Mallory blinked, “What?”

“Your father. Lyrilàn. You look so much like him, Mallory. I…I wish you could have known him.” Mallory watched as a tear fell down her mother’s cheek, and her heart hurt to see it.  
Mallory remembered how when she was little and had noticed that most of the other little kids had a father, she had asked her mother where hers was. When her mother would tell her that he had passed away a long time ago, Mallory would then only be able to ask what was he like in hopes that the memory might make the sad look on her mother’s face go away. Her mother would hesitate for but a moment, but when she would finally speak, despite how carefully she spoke, her tone was covered in longing, “Of all of the men that I’ve met in my life, your father was the kindest of them. He had the most wondrous voice, Mallory. I cried every time I heard him sing. It was like I was witnessing an angel. And he was so, so beautiful, darling. Like a dream that you never wanted to wake up from. I know with everything that I am, that he would’ve been so proud to have you as his daughter—just as I am, always.”

Mallory looked at her mother then, her curiosity beginning to overpower her sorrow, “Tell me. How do I look like him?”

A moment passed in silence as her mother looked at her— _really_ looked at her—and when she spoke again she said, “You have his dark wavy hair. His hazel eyes, too. But more than that, Mallory, you have his _spirit_. That part of you that’s wild and fierce and fights as hard as it loves. That part of you that clings to life so _fervently_ , despite all that it has given you. That, my dear girl, was all from him to you.”

Tears were streaming down Mallory’s face at the end of it all, and when she heard her stomach growl, a laugh tumbled out of her at the sound. Her mother chuckled, too. She wiped away her tears with the back of her hands and cleared her throat before saying, “I suppose it’s time for us to be breaking our fast, now isn’t it?”

Her mother only hummed in response, clearly becoming quickly lulled by sleep again. Mallory frowned, but pressed forward anyway, “What would you like for me to bring you? Fruit, perhaps?”

Her mother opened her eyes and looked at her as she shook her head before merely stating, “Just bread, if we have it. I’m not that hungry at the moment.”

“I see.” Mallory had been noting that as of the past week, her mother’s appetite has severely diminished even more so than it usually had whilst she was sick like this. And thus, it always made her worry if she allowed herself to think about it too much.

It occurred to her then, though, that they didn’t have any more bread. They’d run out of it the night prior.

“Ah, we’re actually out. I’ll have to stop by the bakery today, then. I believe we still have enough money left for some.” Or, at least, she hoped that they did.

“Will you be okay, while I’m gone?”

Her mother only nodded her head, half listening, and half asleep already. Mallory nodded, getting the hint and as quietly as she could, got up to grab the hidden coin pouch from the small chest in the farthest corner from the door, before slipping out of the bedchamber as quietly as a ghost. It was light in her hands. When she opened it and counted how many pieces were left, it all came up to a measly 6 pieces of gold, 7 pieces of silver, and 1 piece of copper. Mallory sighed then and prepared herself to leave for a day that was already more than long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find me on Tumblr, Twitter, and Instagram @empressofhorror 💕🌹


	3. III. The Ache of a Hollow Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So although I wasn't planning on having a two month long hiatus, it seems that that's what ended up happening;;  
> I am, however, back with an update!  
> Thank you to all of the wonderful people who've left kudos and comments so far, you guys really warm my heart <3  
> Enjoy!
> 
> \- Imani 💕🌹

The warm smell of fresh bread surrounded Mallory like the finest of woolen blankets on a winter night and teased her incessantly to the point of being cruel. Another growl left her stomach, and in that moment she had been grateful that the bustle of the bakery, even in the late morning, was loud enough that it covered the sound. She clutched her stomach and willed herself calm, breathing deeply, albeit cursing her circumstances in the same breath, as all she was left with was wanting. 

Absentmindedly, she felt the small pouch that rested snug at the bottom of her apron, and she grimaced at its lightness. Mallory felt as if she was bleeding. Bleeding money. Bleeding time. Bleeding _life_. Until she had nothing left of herself to give, but the husk of her body for the vultures, and the maggots, and the earth.

It didn’t take long for the line to move towards the counter, and before Mallory knew it, she was face to face with Mr. Chérneir who was such a giant of a man that seeing him behind the counter in the small shop was nigh on comical. Often times Mallory wondered why he had decided to become a baker in the first place when he might’ve been better suited for a career more wholly vigorous, like farming, perhaps. But to each their own, she supposed, and besides, his bakery made enough business that Mallory never spoke of it. A grin erupted upon his face as he beheld her, and she immediately felt herself calm from being in his presence, “Mallory! Good morning!”

A smile tugged at her lips as she felt herself nod in reply, “Good morning Mr. Chérneir. I’m sure business is doing well?”

“Of course, of course. What can I get for you then?” 

Mallory glanced down at the immaculately arranged various loaves of bread and pastries that laid in linen-lined baskets and on fine white ceramic plates. Apple pies, blueberry scones, and minced lamb meat pies that smelled as if they had just come straight from the oven tempted her with their scent. Another pang of hunger gnawed at her at the sight, but she forced herself to look away from them instead. With great reluctance, she grabbed one of the round loaves of plain bread that were about as big as her head from a basket to the left of her and placed it in her own.

She flashed a weak smile at the baker, “This one will do.” She quickly grabbed her money pouch from her dress pocket and didn’t even look at up at him as she opened it up, fingers already starting to hold her one copper and silver between them, “It’s five copper, right?”

“No,” he said, matter-of-factly. Mallory felt her neck snap up in shock as she stood stock still, confusion written clear as day on her face.

“No?”

“ _Yes_ , no. It’s ten copper now.” Mallory felt as if she had been just kicked in the gut at his words that he so easily spoke without a care in the world.

“Wait, ten? What do you mean ten?”

Mr. Chérneir gave her a pointed look as he spoke, “I mean what I said. I doubled the price.”

“W-why? You’ve never done so before!”

“Because the summer rains were lacking this year, so the harvest was less than preferable. We may not be going through a drought right now, thank Elione, but as a baker, I cannot take any chances with my business. Hence, why the price of my bread—frankly, everything in this bakery—has been doubled in price. I’ll likely lower it somewhat in the spring, however, we all must do what we need to do to survive. You understand, no?”

Slowly, Mallory looked back down into her frighteningly light money pouch and nodded her head automatically. What he said made sense, although as his words began to sink in Mallory felt as if she could’ve burst into tears as she came to the realization that if the price of bread alone had risen due to the lacking summer rains, then it meant that everything she was going to buy that day was going to be astronomically more expensive than before. Forget having enough for her and her mother to eat for a few days, she may not even have much left to keep them living in their house by the end of it.

Wordlessly and with a pained heart she saw Mr. Chérneir take the money from her hands before counting and giving her back her change. Her business done, she swiveled on her heel and marched to the exit, her eyes glued to the ground as she could feel her face having had gone red with shame from the stares that she could feel on her back. Before her mother’s sickness, Mallory could buy most things, albeit within reason of course, and not worry that both of them might starve to death afterward. Now, she, who was the daughter to the greatest witch that Alenyonne had ever seen, could barely even afford to buy fresh bread without looking like a well-dressed beggar. 

Suddenly, Mallory felt herself collide into the soft hardness of a man’s chest, and both she and the man grunted at the impact of it, and she felt his large hands catch her by her shoulders. Quickly, she backed away as a litany of apologies left her, while she checked if her bread had fallen out, and thank the heavens, it hadn’t. The sound of a warm chuckle fell upon her ears,“If I’d known that this would be how my morning was going to start, then I probably would’ve stayed home. You really should watch where you’re going, Mallory.”

At the familiar voice Mallory looked up to find that, of course, out of all of the people in Alenyonne that she could have had  _literally_ run into, it had to be the one man who she’d give anything to not look like a fool in front of—Emilien Dumais. The eldest of four sons to Henry and Mathilde Dumais, who were some of the wealthiest of wine merchants around, and owned not only Ivywood Manor on the outskirts of Alenyonne, but also Ivywood Vineyard and Winery, which was renown for their fine product quality even all the way to Laleun’s capital of Valenleil. She only happened to have known him because his mother had always been a friend of sorts with Mallory’s mother, given her high status as a witch with skills such as her own. However, Mathilde Dumais had made it evident over the years that no matter how close she was to Mallory’s mother, and no matter how close she and Emilien would become as friends, nothing more could develop between them. That she had great plans for her eldest boy, and none of those plans included the fatherless daughter of a lowborn witch from Alenyonne who couldn’t even do the decent thing and inherit her mother’s power. 

Mallory hesitantly chuckled, and nodded in agreement with him, as she silently prayed to Elione that Emilien would say nothing about the flush that she could surely feel that was blooming upon her face from how embarrassed she was. She dusted off the non-existent dust from her dress as she glanced at him, and felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight of him. Sunlight that filtered in from the bakery’s windows hit his short jet black hair and the way it gleamed almost blue reminded her of a raven’s feathers. Mallory noticed that he was wearing a forest green damask coat that was the same shade as his eyes and that, although sewn simply, probably cost a fortune alone. And when he smiled at her, she felt as if she was being presented with the sun.

But then he frowned, and so did her own smile leave her at the sight of it, “What?”

He raised a brow at her as he chuckled, “Are you alright? You’re staring.”

Mallory blinked rapidly and looked away from his mirth-filled eyes as her face grew hot from blushing, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just haven’t had breakfast is all, so I’m probably still tired. Why are you here again?” Elione above, she wanted to die. What was _wrong_ with her?

“I never mentioned it, but in any case,” he patted his coat where one of his pockets might’ve been, “Mother sent me to _personally_ hire Mr. Chérneir to be the chef in charge of the cake for the wedding, since all of the others at the manor will be too busy preparing the feast to otherwise do so.” At the sound of the wedding, Mallory felt as if someone had poured ice water on her, and left her shivering in cold frozen reality again. “She figured that as it is to be my wedding, I should be making a majority of the preparations. And what about you?”

“I,” she swallowed her throat having suddenly gone sand-dry, “I’d just needed to pick up some bread before going to the market. And, well,” she held up her basket with its lone loaf of bread laying at the bottom, “I’ve bought it, so I’m going to go now.” Quickly, she tried to dart around him, but unfortunately for her, he was faster and had managed to catch her by the arm, effortlessly. 

“Whoa, where do think you’re going, Mouse?” 

Mallory scowled back at him at hearing the childhood nickname. He’d taken to calling her Mouse ever since she’d been five and him eight, when they’d first met during one of her mother’s visits to his family’s manor, and unbeknownst to her, was years away from outgrowing her childhood shyness, “I thought I told you to stop calling me that?”

Emilien hummed, “Perhaps, but it’s so fitting that sometimes I forget.”

Mallory rolled her eyes, “Right. And you heard me earlier, I said that I was going to the market; we’re low on food right now.” She didn’t elaborate in that they happened to be low on a lot of things at that moment, but she didn’t feel like embarrassing herself, even more, today, for the sake of her already wounded pride.

She watched as he looked at her near-empty basket, and then at her similarly near-empty right dress pocket where he knew she always put her money, and then finally at her, with those forest green eyes of his, which she always felt could see right _through_ her sometimes. She was the first one to give in and look away. 

“How about this. You stay here with me, while I finish up my business with the baker, and then why don’t we see if we can’t do anything about that whole food situation of yours, hmm?” The charming grin he shot at her as he started to stroll away almost stole her ability to speak, but she managed to sputter out something that sounded like a cross between a protest and squeak. A part of her registered that during their conversation, the shop had gone near empty due to the morning rush having had already left. 

Mallory watched as Emilien looked back her with a questioning look on his face as he waited behind the last person in line between him and the baker. “And just how am I supposed to pay you back, Emilien? You know I don’t like owing people.”

“First off, I’m wounded that you’d even think that after all these years, what I’d equate to be a gift would be your version of a debt yet to be paid. I’m not a loan shark, Mallory.” Guilt hit her immediately at his words, and right as she was about to take her own words back he spoke again, “And second, I never expected you to do so—we’re practically family after all—however, if you’re so insistent on not owing me anything…” His voice trailed off as he studied her with forest eyes that seemed nigh on endless. 

The deep baritone of Mr. Chérnier’s voice broke Emilien out of his reverie as the taller man asked what’d he like. Mallory saw him glance back at her with mischief in his eyes before he tugged her next to him, “I need you to make a wedding cake for my wedding that’s in a fortnight’s time. Is that enough time for you?”

Mr. Chérneir almost looked insulted as he reached for what looked like parchment and a pencil to write down the order, “I can make it in half that, and then save myself the earful that your mother will give me for it not being fresh enough to her standards by the time you’re a man wed.” 

Emilien chuckled, “Excellent. Well, in that case,” he pointed his free hand at Mallory, “I’m going to let her describe a nice sounding one for you to make then.” 

“What?” Mallory snapped. Mr. Chérneir said nothing except raise a brow at Emilien, the latter of whom looked back down at her as he spoke, “Consider _this_ as your repayment for later. I’ve little idea what might please both my mother or my bride, considering that I’ve barely talked to the latter, but since you have a woman’s eyes, decide whatever you feel would be best. I’m sure it’ll be perfect.” He flashed his heart-shattering smile at her again, and Mallory could only hope that her internal conflict wasn’t reflecting on her face. The sensible part of her wanted to just do it and get it over with. The part of her that had been in love with him since she was fourteen years old, however, felt like bursting into tears.

In the end, she finally settled on living with the ache of a hollow heart as she described the wedding cake of her dreams that would never be hers to receive.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on Tumblr, Twitter, and Insta @empressofhorror 💕🌹


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